Wichita eagle., 1887-12-27

/ Why do society and the law so relentlessly
pursue these ardent devOtees of science
! these brave scavengers OF the battle field
/ of disease? ! am not the only man who
has been buried alive; and what matters it
! if q thousand, nay, if ten thousand graves
! are desecrated, if one poor, despairing
wretch is restored to life, and light, and
! freedom? What sickly sentimentality, what
pulling cowardice, is this so called respect
| for the dead. Do we not forget our dead
! almost as soon as they are out of our
/ sight? Is not the dust of forgotten bill
! lions blown in the faces of the living mil
! lions by every passing breeze?
| Why do not these men begin their work9
/ There is no danger, my friends. Hurry!
| The air in this horrible prison is tainted
and poisoned with my own breath. l
/ shall suffocate if l am not released.
! Hurry! It will soon be too late. My case
I is peculiar one. You know that l ought
| to be Qissected for the benefit of science.
! 1t is true that you do not know that your
| labors will result in naught so far as sci
entific research is concerned, but what
does that matter? Hurry You have GER
tainly heard of the mystery surrounding
my death, as it was cailed-you know
that all the physicians were unable to ac
count for this unexpected result, else why
have you come to take me out of my tomb?
Then, why do you not make haste to Sc
cure the valuable knowledge you are
| seeking?
Silence-utter silencel My God, is
there indeed no hope? No hope. Nc
hope!
All, 1t is no longer dark. A CHASTITY,
nervous, tremulous light dances to and
fro, up and down before my staring eye
balls. 1t is q thread like, yellowish light.
crossed with beams of crimson hue
tinged with a purple that sometimes
changes to deep blue. 1t is segregated,
misshapen light that wriggles and swimS
before me like a corpse light-the miasm
of place where the dead have long lain
unburied. The air grows more fQtid.
There is a horrible pressure on my chest.
The lights dance before my staring eyes
with brighter radiance and more definite
form. My imagination can shape them at
viii, and faces have begun to peer at me
out of the wall of darkness against which
these lights play feel that insanity is
lurking behind all this horror. ! can see
the beginning of the awful end. The eli
max will be something frightful.
There is still one chance, one avenue Of
escape, one hope-deathl My bleeding
hands remind me that suicide is within
my reach. Strange contradiction am
afraid TO die; | am afraid TO live. On the
one hand, / fear the horrors of the IN
known; on the other, fear the horrors of
the reality.
Still the faces peer out of the darkness,
growing more distinct every instant-the
faces Of the living, the faces of the dead,
the faces Of those loved and remembered,
the faces Of those long forgotten. And
they are all the faces of demons. They
sneer and grin at me, and their lips are
silently gibbering. They gloat upon me
and eXult over my helpless, hopeless des
pair. would shut them out by closing
my eyes, but the distorted countenances
become more apparent and begin to hear
the misses of their sneering lips.
The weight upon my chest becomes so
oppressive that l can scarcely breathe.
There is roar in my ears. and my brain
whirls round and round. l have lost the
button | tore from my shroud. l no
longer think; see and l hear.
Oh, what a vision; what hideous dis
cord. There, bending over me, see once
more the sweet face Of my wife, but its
expression changes. and il becomes the
face of fend II is scanned with hate
as with vitviol. Her thin lips curl in cruel
scorn, and her eyes are living fame The
flesh shrivels and tightens until | can see
the contour of the deaths head beneath.
She is bonding closer-that horrible,
earthly odor emanateS from her nOstrils.
Gaunt skeleton fingers clutch my throat,
a skeleton knee cruShes my breast. The
skull bends closer. and l shuddeT as |
gaze into the sockets where the eyes were,
now filed with crawling, twining, Shiny
worms, ont of the ENHANCEMENT OF which
CLEANS a greenish, phosphorescent light.
Closer. still closer the hideous, Crinning
thing approaches; tighter. yet tighter the
bony talons clutch my throat; heay ier,
and still heavier the skeleton knee presses
upon my chest. Ny face IS black and dis
torted as the face of the dead who die on
the gibbet. ! struggle with the strength
OF hundred maniacs; my shrieks may
reach beyond the confines Of hell. even 10
the throne of God-in vain.
The feshless lips of the deaths head
are pressed il unholy joy against mine
that are wet with the foam Of despair.
II is the kiss Of death!-E. II. Clough
in ArgonaUt.